


Out From The Inside

by Rubynye



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Closet Sex, Clothed Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Minor Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey, Multi, Quickies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29119848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: Peter allows himself the smallest smidge of a smile, watches Neal’s gaze flicker to his mouth, and makes a command decision to let them have a few minutes.
Relationships: Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Out From The Inside

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2021 Chocolate Box Exchange. :)

Even if he didn’t have to unlock the closet door Neal would hear him coming, so Peter _knows_ whatever he sees will be an artful construct. Still, the way Neal’s phone lights his downturned face, the dramatic posture as Neal tips up his chin, looking up from beneath the tilted hat, the glow of those big blue eyes — Peter’s heart skips a beat in awe. He wants to let himself be impressed.

Instead he deliberately frowns and reaches into the closet where he left Neal, and curves his hand around Neal’s shoulder just hard enough, not too tightly. “C’mon already.”

Neal’s smile shines in the dimness, and Peter feels his set stance as he doesn’t move an inch. “Hi!” Peering guilelessly past Peter’s shoulder as he pockets his phone, he adds, “Hey, where’s everybody?” 

Peter’s starting to feel warm under his collar. “I sent them on ahead in case I had to go looking for you.” He’s not actually surprised Neal’s where he should be at this moment, for the same reason he won’t ask if Neal stayed in here the whole time.

Neal widens his already huge eyes, and Peter is irresistibly reminded of El’s and wants to bite his lip. “Did you explain why I was missing the party?”

“ ‘For his own good,’ was sufficient.” Peter allows himself the smallest smidge of a smile, watches Neal’s gaze flicker to his mouth, and makes a command decision to let them have a few minutes. Stepping forward instead of back he closes the closet door behind him, pressing up to Neal in the dimness.

A stripe of light through the door hinge illuminates a span of forehead, an arched eyebrow, a bright blue eye that crinkles as Neal’s hectic grin shifts to a softer smile. “Hey,” he murmurs as Peter crowds him against the back wall, soaking in the warmth of his body through shirt and vest and jacket, the firmness of his thighs as their legs align. “If you’re in here, who’ll let us out?”

Peter squeezes Neal’s shoulders for a long moment, absorbing the shapes of his beautiful body beneath his beautiful clothes. He runs his hands over fine cloth and touches finer skin, Neal’s pulse racing under Peter’s fingers either side of his throat. Neal’s eyelids flutter, those ridiculous lashes veiling his eyes as Peter loosens Neal’s tie and unfastens his top button, his hands sliding under Peter’s jacket as Peter slides his up Neal’s long neck and square jaw to cup his face. 

“I have faith in you,” Peter says, and kisses him, feeling Neal’s smile melt to softness against his lips. A moment, a breath, and Neal surges into the kiss with his whole body, arms tightening around Peter’s waist, thigh sliding between Peter’s legs, soft mouth turned pushy and demanding. 

Peter sinks a hand into Neal’s thick hair and pushes right back. He can feel Neal heating up, dragging him along up the thermometer; he can taste Neal on every breath, the rich scent of his skin rising through the impeccable cologne. Helplessly cupping Neal’s velvet-prickly cheek, he tightens the other fist to pull on Neal’s hair and feels the warm vibration of Neal’s gasp against his mouth, Neal’s shudder down every inch of his front, that hat rolling down his arm and tumbling away, just before Neal growls tenor and shoves his tongue into Peter’s mouth, lithe as the rest of him.

Peter glories in sensation, rumbles baritone and pushes Neal against the wall hard enough to feel it through his slender body. He wraps his hand lightly around the side of Neal’s throat, thumb riding the apple, and Neal shivers hard and continuously, squirming between Peter and the wall, rocking his hips against Peter’s thigh and digging his fingers into Peter’s back. Peter could stay like this for half of forever, making out with Neal in a hidden closet, but if they don’t get back soon they’ll be missed. The ever-present clock ticks away in the back of Peter’s head, in the last cool spot he manages to maintain despite Neal’s blazing glow.

So Peter gets this show on the road, as Neal frankly rides his hip. “Shh,” he murmurs over Neal’s parted lips, “shh,” as he slides a hand firmly down Neal’s heaving chest, pebbled nipple, taut side, to grip his hip and throttle him down a bit. “Shh, let me,” as Neal shudders to a stop, clutching Peter’s shoulders with both long hands, so Peter can unbutton his fly.

Peter pushes Neal’s slacks and jockeys down carefully, one side and the other as Neal pants against his mouth, and only then allows himself to squeeze one firm rounded cheek. Neal gasps a soft laugh, hips stuttering against Peter’s clothed thigh, and Peter pushes Neal’s hip back again before his trousers get wrecked either. “Wet or dry?” He asks, brushing Neal’s silk-rough lips with his, leaning back when Neal presses forward.

“Fuck,” Neal mutters, pushing up on his toes to chase Peter’s mouth, and Peter can’t help a dark little chuckle. “Dry,” he gasps, “dry or I’ll lose it soon as you touch me.”

Then he lunges, slamming their lips together with tingling force, puffing a sweet laugh into Peter’s mouth, and all Peter can do, heart expanding against his breastbone, is growl like he knows Neal likes and shove Neal back into the wall as he riffles his fingertips through wiry trimmed pubes and curls his hand around Neal’s incandescent cock. 

Neal sucks in a noisy rush of air and bites Peter’s lip, sending shocks through him that drive up a moan. It takes a moment for Peter to steel himself, another to grip Neal’s hair and yank his head back, to grip the base of his cock and deliver a firm squeeze. Neal’s eyes fly open, wide and dark in the dimness, and it takes all Peter’s belly-clenching sternness to remind him, “no marks.”

Neal blinks, and grins wide, showing all his pearly teeth, and nods, bossily rolling his hips up into Peter’s grip. Peter shakes his head into the next kiss, and his next stroke slides, slicked with a drizzle of precome. He saved Neal’s slacks just in time, not that he expects Neal to behave himself in gratitude. 

Before he gets carried away on the tide of Neal’s horny delight Peter makes himself wrench out of the kiss for another reminder. “Keep your hands where they are,” he whispers into the fine skin just beside Neal’s lush mouth, and Neal whines deep in his throat and crumples two fistfuls of Peter’s shirt. 

At that Peter can’t keep his mouth off Neal’s throat, sucking kisses over firm skin from chin to collar, and Neal laughs and flattens his hands over Peter’s shoulder blades, digging in his fingertips. “What,” Neal gasps in time with Peter’s strokes, base to head and back again, “was that, about, marks?”

Peter doesn’t dignify that with more than a tooth’s edge over Neal’s pulse, and Neal laughs breezily over the top of his head, hips rolling steadily into Peter’s grip, thigh pressed up under his tightening balls. Peter has to squeeze his eyes tightly to remind himself why he shouldn’t thrust against Neal’s thigh, licks slowly up the curve of Neal’s arched throat and back into his mouth, and drinks down Neal’s lavish moan.

With a rush in his blood Peter recognizes _that_ note in Neal’s lilting voice. Kissing along Neal’s chin he murmurs, “Tell me when you’re getting close,” and starts twisting his hand, and Neal shudders and whimpers out loud and nods against Peter’s forehead, almost too far gone to push.

Almost, as he turns his head, dragging his soft lips along Peter’s temple, and whispers brokenly, “ I’ve been close, since you, since you put me in this box.”

The sheer rush of possessiveness makes Peter’s cock jerk in his own trousers, makes him long to sink his teeth just below Neal’s ear until he cries out. Instead Peter kisses him again, and again, and again until Neal’s moans slide high and desperate, until Neal’s the one who pulls back, pressing Peter’s hand between his head and the wall as he stutters out, “Peter, Peter, now—“

A quick kiss as reward and Peter slides to his knees. Neal catches his hand, pressing his heated cheek into Peter’s hold as Peter slides his mouth over Neal’s cock, sweet-salty-musky, keeping the rhythm as he bobs his head. Neal’s next cry is muffled, and the next, as his balls crimp up against Peter’s chin and he starts to come in slick bitter pulses that shudder through his whole body. Peter rides Neal’s thrusts, flattening his hand on the angle of Neal’s hip, going down as far as he can and swallowing as hard as he can. Neal’s belly tenses against his fingertips, Neal’s hips shove against his palm, Neal’s cock throbs in his mouth, and for a moment he lets himself happily drown in Neal’s pleasure.

Another moment, and another, as Peter licks Neal dry, as Neal grips Peter’s hand and wrist with both hands and presses his trembling mouth to the base of Peter’s thumb, until Neal’s cock starts softening heartbeat by racing heartbeat on Peter’s tongue. A final lick and he makes himself let go, pushes himself back. No evidence left.

Neal kisses the heel of Peter’s hand and his wrist, and Peter carefully licks his fingers, then pushes his other hand against the wall to lever himself up before Neal can more than think of kneeling down with him. Neal clutches Peter’s hair and drags him into a deep heated kiss, and Peter doesn’t think about his hair getting messed up, about how rumpled they both must be, about anything but Neal moaning deep and satisfied as he licks himself from Peter’s tongue.

Then Neal slumps out of the kiss, head dropping to Peter’s shoulder, a solid weight all down his side. Peter cradles his head and wraps an arm around his narrow waist and enjoys Neal’s unstrung body trembling alongside his own, more than he should let himself.

As he often does with Neal in his arms, Peter thinks about how they ended up here, half in chagrin, half delight. After all, El and Neal are always telling him to contemplate works of art. Peter remembers that day when Neal gave him that lollipop, how he came face to face with this talented beautiful cocky boy, how El saw right through him and pointed out his tangible fascination with this particular case. How he thought he’d put that crush away when he put Neal in jail, how his blood surged when he heard Neal had to be caught again, how annoyed he was when Neal made this ridiculous proposal to be his CI, as annoyed as only a man trying not to trip over his own hard-on could be. About the shifting shapes of his frustration as he watched Neal chase Kate’s glimmering shadow, about all the days Neal has come to their home to work on cases and put smiles on El’s face and eat their food, all the nights he’s slept on the couch, then in the guest room, then in their bed. All the nights they’ve all barely slept.

He has no idea how they’re going to keep this secret for thirteen months and seventeen more days, until Neal’s completed his sentence, until they’re all free. Still, Peter holds Neal trembling on his shoulder, pointy nose pressed into his neck as they lean against the wall, and thinks about how he never wants to let this man go.

Another deep breath or three, and Neal gets his feet back beneath him, kissing Peter’s jaw, curving one hand over Peter’s fly. Peter’s traitorous cock twitches towards Neal but Peter wraps his hand around Neal’s wrist, shaking his head as he brushes his lips over Neal’s forehead. “You’ll pay me back later,” he murmurs as low as he can, and when Neal looks up at him, big eyes narrowed curiously, he runs his thumb over Neal’s tender bottom lip. Vibrating, Neal goes cross-eyed looking down at Peter’s hand. Peter exhales a little laugh, pressing his mouth to Neal’s ear as he rumbles, “While El watches, while she runs her fingers through your hair, and when I’m done with you she’ll have you too.” Neal groans, and Peter goes on, “You like that, huh?”

Neal pushes away, one hand flat on Peter’s chest, and Peter can’t help but smile as Neal shakes a trembling finger at him. “You’re gonna make me get hard again,” would be a very bad attempt at a scolding even if Neal’s eyes weren’t twinkling like bright stars.

“Then you’d better put that away,” Peter says pragmatically, watching Neal roll his eyes as he fixes his slacks. Peter opens his own trousers, swats Neal’s hands away, tucks his shirt back in, and zips up, rolling his shoulders in his jacket to settle everything back in place.

Neal does up his top button and fixes his tie, brushes a hand back over his hair, and kicks his trilby unerringly up into his hold. “Here,” he says as he flips it on and lopes forward into Peter’s space. Neal straightens out Peter’s tie with his clever fingers, and Peter stands still for it and lets him, keeping his own hands by his sides, away from Neal.

Neal’s tug on the tie is artfully light, not disturbing the knot, so Peter lets him have the requested kiss, with some interest. He puts a hand on Neal’s shoulder as he pulls back, gently turning him towards the door, and Neal tosses him a grin before tackling the lock.

Peter barely has time to watch Neal’s clever hands work before the door swings out, and the conference room outside is very bright and thankfully empty. Tossing his head back, Neal steps right out, adjusting his hat a microscopic fraction, a bounce in his step.

Peter rolls his eyes at himself for indulging Neal, and reaches forward as he steps out behind him. A tap on the shoulder and Neal spins to face him, almost a dance step, beautiful and aggravating as ever. 

Neal sways forward and Peter side-steps him, holding his hand out. “My wallet?”

A bright grin, a brighter laugh, and Neal pulls it from his jacket, which Peter didn’t even see him _touch_. Their fingers brush warmly as he hands it over, and Peter can’t help the smallest charmed smile.

**Author's Note:**

> While reading up on _White Collar_ I saw mention of an episode where Peter locked Neal in a closet to keep him out of trouble. After I finished laughing I had to write a riff on that concept. 
> 
> Title from 'In Your Eyes' by Peter Gabriel, of course.


End file.
